A Change of Scenery
by TearStainedAshes
Summary: John drags Sherlock onto a much needed holiday. Sherlock refuses to have any fun until he catches a glimpse of John's suntanned body after a swim. Things take a very interesting turn from there.


Hello everyone! Happy Monday Evening slash Tuesday Morning. I don't know why I capitalized "evening" and "morning." I just did. Whatever.

So this was written for the Let's Write Sherlock challenge 13: Vacation Getaway. I haven't written for Let's Write Sherlock in so long, and when I read this prompt the story just came to me. The thunderstorm that passed over my town certainly helped with inspiration. I find I always write better when it's raining or there's a thundershower going on. I don't know what it is, but I love it. I wrote a majority of this whilst at work (shhh) and finished it when I got home. I hope it doesn't have too many typos. I wrote this in a little over three hours. Let me know if you notice anything, or if there's a bit that really works well let me know about that too. Thanks! I hope you enjoy the fic.

TSA

* * *

'But I don't _want_ to go on holiday!' Sherlock said stroppily. He tossed himself down on his bed dramatically, an arm covering his eyes. 'I _like_ it here! There are _murders_ here!'

'Too bad,' John said. He was trying to pack some of Sherlock's clothes into the suitcase, but Sherlock was having none of it. 'I've already booked us a room. It has an ocean view, it's right by the beach, and I have a nonrefundable reservation. So get off your arse and help me pack!'

Sherlock merely groaned and tossed his head back and forth in a dramatic fashion.

'Sherlock, you're coming with me. We've been swamped with cases for ages and we finally have a break, so I'm seizing this rare opportunity and we're taking a two week holiday on the island of Lanzarote.'

'_Two weeks?!_' Sherlock sat up and stared at John, eyes wide and mouth agape. 'I can't go without murders for two whole weeks! I might actually murder someone myself!'

'Please,' John scoffed. 'I'm the soldier here, remember? I've killed people before. You, on the other hand, have not.'

'You were a doctor.'

'I was a soldier first,' John informed him. 'I would sometimes inflict wounds on enemy soldiers and I would later stitch them up in triage.'

'That must have been awkward for the enemy,' Sherlock mused. 'I bet they feared you'd attempt to murder them whilst they were under the anesthetic.'

'When I'm in surgery, I'm a surgeon, Sherlock,' John said, as if he hadn't told him this a million times already. 'I don't kill my patients on the operating table. I prefer to do that in actual battle.'

Sherlock huffed and flopped back on the bed. John threw a t-shirt at his head.

'Uh-uh,' he said. 'Up. Help me pack. We're leaving within the hour for the airport. Now get up and stuff some clothes in here.'

'I'm not going to have any fun on holiday,' Sherlock huffed. 'No murders, boring tourists having affairs, and sun.' He hissed like a vampire. 'Why do I need to go outside? And at a _beach_ no less?'

'Because you need to soak up some natural Vitamin D so you can stop taking such a heavy prescription,' John said. 'And some swimming will do you some good. All you do is run. You aren't utilising all your muscle groups. Swimming does all that and then some. It'll be good for you.'

'Yes,' Sherlock scoffed. 'Just like sleeping and eating is good for me.'

'Exactly,' John said, completely missing the sarcastic tone in Sherlock's voice. Sherlock sighed and shook his head. He stuffed some clothes into the suitcase, not caring if they got wrinkled or weren't proper beach attire. He zipped the case closed and made John carry it downstairs and put it in the boot of the waiting cab. Sherlock curled his knees into his chest and played around on his phone, texting Lestrade and begging him for a case. No luck. It would seem he was stuck going on the miserable holiday after all.

**…****::-::…**

After a flight to Spain, two connecting flights, and a ferry ride, they arrived on the island of Lanzarote. John called them a cab and told the driver, in perfect Spanish, to take them to the HD Beach Resort.

'Took Spanish all through Uni,' John explained to Sherlock's quizzical look. 'I'm fluent, in case you couldn't already tell.'

Sherlock merely sniffed and turned his attention back to his phone. John sighed and shook his head. Sherlock researched the hotel on his phone on the drive. Four and a half stars out of five, beach view or mountain view, two-floor suites, and masseuses available by appointment. Sherlock had to admit that the hotel was impressive, and he questioned how on earth John could afford it, but he refused to enjoy the holiday. Nothing would sway him.

Well, maybe nothing.

When they got to the room, one of the two-floor suites, Sherlock just stood in the doorway, taking it all in. The view was gorgeous, the sea a brilliant blue and the sky just as gorgeous. The room resembled their flat, but it had a full-sized kitchen and there was no lab equipment strewn everywhere. Sherlock walked over to the refrigerator and frowned at how pristine and white and how empty of body parts it was. There were complimentary water bottles in the fridge, but nothing else. John would most certainly want to go shopping later to search out food and possibly even want to seek out souvenirs. Sherlock scoffed at the idea and shut the refrigerator doors.

He then ventured upstairs to find John and stopped when he saw the bedroom.

There was only one bed.

'John?'

'Yes?'

'Where will you be sleeping?'

'What do you mean?'

'There's only one bed.'

'I know. The suites only come with one bed, plus a Jacuzzi bath.'

'But… that means we have to share.'

'The bed? I know.'

'Why did you reserve a room with only one bed when you always tell people you aren't gay?'

'Because I wanted the Jacuzzi bath and the beach view,' John said. 'I figured I could survive a couple weeks sharing a bed with you. And besides, I imagined you wouldn't be sleeping much anyway. You'll probably spend most of your time on your laptop or phone, begging Lestrade for cases so we can leave early.'

'Um…'

'Well, it's not going to happen. Because I told him to only contact us in cases of emergencies, like serial killers or quadruple homicides.'

'John!' Sherlock gasped.

'Oh, shut it. This holiday will be good for you.'

'No it won't!' Sherlock threw himself on the rather plush bed and groaned. 'No one will be murdered here! It's just affairs and people having sex in the ocean and little children pissing in the pools. There is nothing here that could possibly peak my interest!'

'Well, that's too bad for you.' John placed his suitcase on the bed and started pulling clothes out of it and putting them in the wardrobe. 'I'm going to go swim, because I want to start enjoying this holiday ASAP. Do you want to come with me?'

'No,' Sherlock grunted.

'Fine. I just thought I'd ask to be polite. But if you change your mind, I packed you some trunks. The ones with the birds on them.'

'What?!' Sherlock looked up at John, aghast. 'How do you even know about those? They were hidden!'

'Not well enough,' John said, smirking. 'I packed them under some shorts and vests. I want to see you tan by the end of this holiday. You'll be brown as a nut if I have my way.'

Sherlock groaned and covered his face with his hands. He hated the place already, and all he'd seen was the lobby and their room.

'Ta!' John called over his shoulder as he went downstairs to change. He grabbed a towel on the way out and he was soon soaking up some sun whilst soaking in the outdoor hot tub.

**…****::-::…**

Sherlock never moved from the bedroom for the first three days. He only emerged to use the loo and grab an occasional apple from the fruit basket the staff left every morning. He hadn't even changed out of the clothes he'd arrived in, and that included his great coat. He just laid face down on the bed, his arms bent at perfect 90 degree angles with his hands shoved under the pillows. His coat covered most of his body, though it sprawled out along the end so only the bottom half of Sherlock's trousers showed. He was so long, his feet draped lazily over the side of the bed. At some point he'd taken off his shoes at least, but other than that he'd barely budged.

On the fourth day, Sherlock was downstairs eating his daily apple later than usual. He'd actually slept the previous night, and overslept through John's morning routine. When he woke, his stomach was complaining and his muscles were sore from not being used for so long. He went downstairs and grabbed his apple from the fruit basket and ate it slowly. He was just about to take the last bite when John returned from his daily swim. He was rubbing his hair dry with the towel, so he didn't see Sherlock sitting in the kitchen, staring at him. After only four days, John's body was already tanned and toned more than Sherlock had ever seen it. He just sat there, completely frozen, as John made his way into the bathroom to wash the chlorine out of his hair. Or had he been swimming in the ocean today? Sherlock couldn't tell. All he knew was that he should be biting into his apple, but all he really wanted to bite into was John's pectorals.

Sherlock shook his head and blinked. Where the bloody hell had _that_ come from? He shivered in mild repulsion and binned what was left of the apple. He made his way upstairs and resumed his position on the bed so John would be non-the-wiser about what Sherlock had seen.

John didn't suspect anything when he came upstairs after his shower. He draped his swimming trunks over the side of the Jacuzzi bath in the bedroom so it would drip dry down the drain. He shook his head when he saw Sherlock _still _hadn't moved, but he didn't press the issue. He just went downstairs to make himself something to eat. He was watching TV whilst eating his dinner when Sherlock emerged from the bedroom, and he wasn't wearing his coat or the clothes he'd arrived in. He'd changed into the bird swim trunks. John stared at him, mouth open and a fork of his food frozen in midair.

'I want you to take me swimming,' he said to John, ignoring the look of utter shock on the man's face.

'What?'

'You heard me.' Sherlock sighed and shook his head. 'I… I think I've got my… my tantrum… out of my system. And I'd like to swim with you.'

'Oh. OK.' John put his fork down and stood up, abandoning what was left on his plate. 'I'll just go change, yeah?'

'Yeah. OK. And, um, grab me a towel? I don't know where they are.'

'Sure thing.' John disappeared upstairs and Sherlock seized the opportunity to eat what was left on John's plate. He knew swimming immediately after eating wasn't exactly smart, but he knew swimming on an empty stomach could be just as dangerous. John didn't mention it when he returned with two towels, his still wet trunks slung low on his hips. He just passed Sherlock a towel, grabbed a room key, and led him down to the outdoor pool.

'Want to just soak in the hot tub for a bit?' John asked him.

'Um… Sure, I suppose.' He placed his towel down on an empty chair (there were a lot of them given most people were out in the ocean or exploring the island) and followed John into the hot tub. They each sat in one of the individual chairs and John let out a little sigh of contentment. Sherlock looked over to him and saw he had his eyes closed, his head just barely in the water, but enough to get his hair wet again.

'You just washed your hair,' Sherlock said. 'Why are you getting it soaked with chemicals again?'

'Because you asked me out here and it's physically impossible to _not_ get one's hair wet when swimming.'

'But—'

'Don't worry about it, Sherlock. I'll be fine. I'll just rinse my hair out next time, not wash it. It'll be fine.'

Sherlock huffed and lied back in his chair. The water was warm, and the Jacuzzi bubbles were rather relaxing. More so than he initially imagined. He settled down in the chair and a soft sigh escaped his lips before he could stop it. He risked a glance at John, but the older man apparently hadn't heard his little slip-up. Sherlock didn't want him to know he was actually starting to enjoy himself.

**…****::-::…**

The next few days went about the same. Sherlock would tag along on all of John's errands, from going shopping to swimming to just walking around the island and discovering fresh new places to explore. While he was loath to admit it, Sherlock was actually starting to relax and enjoy the holiday.

One day, John surprised him with a trip to the spa and they got individual massages. Sherlock had never felt so relaxed in all his life. He practically melted into the masseuse table by the time the massage was over. He had to be wheeled out of the room in a wheelchair he was so utterly relaxed he couldn't walk. John just chuckled and shook his head. He took over and wheeled Sherlock back up to their room and helped him onto the couch, where he napped for a couple of hours before demanding they go swimming in the ocean.

All too soon their holiday was coming to an end. Sherlock never wanted to leave the little paradise they'd created. He liked how John was on holiday. How relaxed and open and _fun_ he was. He didn't want that to end, ever. He was sat on the sofa, pouting, when John returned from his workout.

'Hey,' he said when he entered the room. 'You OK? I haven't seen you in such a mood since we arrived.'

'I don't want to go,' Sherlock muttered, only slightly under his breath.

'You don't?' John asked.

'No.' Sherlock sunk lower onto the couch, his pout deepening. John sat next to him and squeezed his knee.

'Hey. Look at me.' Sherlock glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. 'I'm sorry, but we have to go. I can't afford for us to stay here longer than two weeks. But I'll be sure to save up and we can come here again in the future, OK?'

'No.'

'What? Why not?'

'I want to stay here, with holiday John.'

'Holiday John? Who's he?'

'He's you when you're on holiday,' Sherlock explained. 'You aren't as uptight when you're on holiday. You're relaxed and open and you're fun. I don't want him to go and be replaced with hard-arse John who makes me eat and sleep when I should be working on cases or my experiments.'

'Hey now. Hard-arsed John can still be fun.'

'No, he can't.'

'Yes, he can.'

'No, he can't.'

'_Yes_, he can.'

Suddenly, Sherlock's mouth felt warm and wet and it wasn't because he'd just licked his lips. John was kissing him, _willingly_ kissing him, and he was humming and making little noises that indicated that he _liked_ kissing him. It took Sherlock a moment to kiss him back, but boy did he kiss back. He tangled his fingers in John's slightly shaggier hair and pulled him onto his lap. John followed willingly and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's curls. He pulled slightly and Sherlock moaned into John's mouth. Their tongues reached out tentatively and slid along one another. Sherlock knew how to kiss, he wasn't as inexperienced as he led others to believe, but it had been a while since he'd been intimate with another person.

They pulled away after a few minutes, gasping for air, mouths wet and lips swollen from being kissed so forcefully.

'I didn't—' Sherlock began.

'Shut up,' John said breathlessly. He pulled him in for another kiss and Sherlock whined pitifully. John was an excellent kisser. He never wanted to stop kissing him. He wanted to kiss him all night and into tomorrow and through the rest of the holiday. Then he wanted to kiss him on the ferry and on the plane and all the way back to Baker Street. If he died kissing John Watson, he would die a happy man.

John whispered something in Sherlock's ear, something Sherlock didn't really hear due to the pounding in his head and his racing thoughts shouting, 'MORE KISSING.' But somehow Sherlock's body acted on instinct and he wrapped his arms around John and picked him up so they could still kiss whilst he held him. He carried him upstairs and to the bedroom. They were clawing at each other's clothes and tossing them onto the floor. Sherlock licked at John's golden skin, tasting his sweat from his workout but also salt from the ocean and chlorine from the pool and the oils from the massage. He could taste everything on John's skin, even his body wash. John shuddered beneath him and moaned his name.

'How long?' he asked.

'How long what?' Sherlock asked.

'How long have you been keeping this from me?'

'What?'

'Your feelings.'

'Oh.' Sherlock pulled back so he could study John's face. The little creases by his brows, the wrinkles by his eyes, and the small scar just above his lip that Sherlock had never noticed until he'd felt it when they were kissing. He had one of his own, from when a test tube blew up in his face during his university years. John had never commented on it, and he'd never had to because the scar was so miniscule Sherlock often forget about its existence himself.

'I've had feelings since, well, since the beginning,' he finally admitted.

'Since the beginning?' John asked.

'Yes. I thought it better to let you go on believing that I was more interested in my work than a relationship. At the time, I thought it would be better that way.' Sherlock looked down in shame. 'But then you shot the cabbie for me after barely knowing me for a day. And I thought maybe we could try… but you met _Sarah._' He spat her name like it was poison on his tongue. 'I knew I was too late then. You'd regressed to your heteronormative state, and I knew I couldn't do anything to persuade you to come back to the possibly bi-curious John Watson that had had dinner with me in Angelo's on our first case.

'Things started to look up after the Hound case when he'd had to share a room, not unlike this one. Granted, it wasn't a suite, but it was quaint and homey. But then Irene happened, and you believed me to be a virgin. I knew you'd never take my innocence like that, nor would you want your first time with a man to be the other man's first time as well. That didn't come out right.'

'No, it didn't.' John reached up to touch Sherlock's cheek, making the younger man look at him. 'I'm sorry I fucked up all our opportunities to try for something more. But you're right. I believed you weren't interested, and I believed that I was solely straight. But opinions change over time. And I came to realise that my feelings toward you were more than platonic after the Hound case.'

'So, you are bisexual then?'

'I believe so, yes.'

'Good. That's good. Um, I mean—'

'I know what you mean.' John pecked him on the cheek. 'So, you aren't a virgin then?'

'Far from it.'

'Good.' John pulled him down for a proper kiss and they removed the rest of their clothing. Their hands fumbled briefly before they found each other's cocks. John stroked Sherlock's slowly, drawing out his pleasure. He whined and tried to push his cock faster through John's fist, but to no avail. So he started stroking John off quickly, making the man reach his peak far too quickly. John gasped and spurt all over his golden stomach and Sherlock's hand.

'Sorry, sorry,' Sherlock apologised. 'I… I didn't know you'd cum that quickly. Fuck. I fucked this up.'

'No, it's fine.' John placed a hand over Sherlock's on his stomach. He was trying to clean up his ejaculation, but all he was doing was spreading it around. 'It's fine. Switch me places. I'll help you finish and then we should clean up and get some rest, yeah?'

'Yeah. OK. Yeah.' Sherlock flopped down onto his back. John crawled over him and kissed him softly to help him relax.

'You did nothing wrong,' he told him when he broke the kiss. 'It felt wonderful. So now it's my turn to make you feel the same.'

He slid down Sherlock's body and eased his knees apart so he'd be more comfortable. He then began stroking Sherlock slowly, easing him back into a proper erection. Sherlock moaned and settled down along the bed. The hand job reminded him of the massage and his muscles began to melt. He was so placid he hadn't even felt John shift until his mouth was suckling the head of his cock. He gasped and his hips jumped, driving his cock further into John's mouth.

'Don't stop,' he breathed out. John nodded and sucked more of him down until he couldn't anymore. He began bobbing his head in a steady rhythm, his hand holding Sherlock's cock steady as he sucked him off. Sherlock breathed out little whimpers and breathy moans. John was amazing. He wanted John's mouth on him and around him all the time. He wanted to keep John forever.

Suddenly, his muscles seized and he knew he was about to cum. He tried to warn John, but he couldn't speak other than making breathy little noises. He gasped a garbled version of John's name as he fell over the edge, cumming into John's mouth. John didn't pull off, but he didn't swallow either. He saved Sherlock's ejaculate until he came down from his high and spit it into a rubbish bin.

'Sorry,' he said. 'I've never been a swallower.'

'It's fine,' Sherlock breathed out. 'I didn't expect you to be.'

'I'm gonna go wash my mouth out and then we'll cuddle, OK?'

'Sure. I might be asleep when you come back though.'

'That's fine. You need your rest.'

'OK. I… I love you, John.' Sherlock flushed a bright red at the admission. John grinned from ear to ear.

'I love you too,' he said. Sherlock's blush turned into a grin that matched John's. 'I'd kiss you, but I probably taste like cum.'

'You can kiss me when you come back.'

'OK.' John hurried downstairs and gargled with some saltwater. He spat it down the sink and took the stairs two at a time. He found Sherlock curled up under the covers, but he wasn't asleep. John scootched in in front of him and grabbed his hand. Sherlock squeezed it gently. John grinned and pecked Sherlock on the lips. They both sighed happily and fell asleep, curled up facing one another, holding hands.

**…****::-::…**

The rest of their holiday consisted mainly of sex and swimming. But mostly sex. While they had yet to have fully penetrative sex (Sherlock had wanted to save their "real" first time for back at Baker Street. 'Much more personal than shagging in a hotel room, don't you think, John?' John had to agree), they still gave each other mutual hand jobs and blow jobs and they even experimented a bit with their fingers. After their rather rigorous activities, Sherlock actually ate decently. He once even offered to cook. John had feigned a heart attack and Sherlock had hit him with a spoon. It was the first and only time Sherlock cooked for John (except for later on in their relationship when he would cook meals to celebrate their anniversary or John's birthday).

Soon, their holiday came to an end. Their clothes had to be backed, their food had to be thrown out, and their soiled towels had to be tossed in the provided hamper. The sheets were slightly stained from their sexual experiments, but otherwise they'd pretty much left the room the way they'd found it. John returned the key at the front desk and he and Sherlock walked to the ferry dock hand-in-hand. They never let go of one another all the way to the airport. And even after they'd gone through security, they were inseparable. John fell asleep on Sherlock's shoulder on the plane ride back to London, and Sherlock just pet his hair soothingly the whole way.

On the cab ride home, John grabbed Sherlock's hand and turned it over, his fingers tracing over his palm and the rough calluses there.

'Thank you,' Sherlock murmured. 'For the holiday. I... I really enjoyed it.'

'You're welcome, Sherlock,' John said softly. 'I had a rather nice time as well.'

'I'm glad I accidentally caught a glimpse of you just as you were coming back from a swim. If I hadn't seen you in your trunks, golden-skinned and mussed hair, I probably never would have gotten out of my funk.'

'Well, I'm certainly glad you did. Otherwise we might have never ended up here.'

Sherlock hummed and nodded. He nuzzled at the top of John's head and placed a kiss upon it. John chuckled and placed a kiss to the centre of Sherlock's palm. 'Yeah,' John murmured. 'I guess all we needed was a change of scenery.'


End file.
